


from which stars have we fallen, to meet each other here?

by serotinal



Category: PRISTIN (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serotinal/pseuds/serotinal
Summary: Because they are them, simply Nayoung and Minkyung, two teenage girls trying to navigate the many mazes that come with adulthood, meeting multiple times amidst the different lanes, finding each other; whilst also helping each other to find themselves.





	1. tonight, we are invincible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nayoung and Minkyung learn that tolerating each other might just be easier than expected.

Nayoung grows the beat, scratching an octave higher on the turntable. Closing her eyes, she feels the familiar pulse of the music travel up her forearm, adrenaline rushing through her veins at the speed of light.

_This is it_ , Nayoung bites down on her lower lip as she turns the melody a notch higher to match the bass, _perfect_.

Screams erupt from the floor. Nayoung grins, sweat trickling down her temple as her fingers glide up and down the disc jockey sets.

Disco lights are flashing before Nayoung’s eyes but they never did blind her; strong beat thumping against the walls of the club, faceless bodies grinding and bumping against one another on the floor below Nayoung’s DJ stand, the sound of glass clinking against glass as martinis are exchanged—This is the night scene in which Nayoung finds the most comfort in, and she would never trade it for the world.

Grabbing an unopened bottle of water from below the booth, Nayoung takes a swig.

Just as Nayoung raises her eyes, she catches sight of the rising sun casting a warm, orangey glow on the insides of the club and she realises that her shift is over. It’s time to start the playback.

Adjusting the mic, Nayoung leans forward, her voice a gentle rasp through the noise, “See you tomorrow night!”

Collective groans ring out and Nayoung can’t stop the smile that tugs on the edges of her lips. Raising a hand as a wave, she makes her way off the DJ stand, down rusty portable stairs.

Nayoung starts off towards the staff lockers at the back of the club, skilfully spinning her locker combination before the rickety metal creaks open. Nayoung takes off her perspire-soaked shirt, haphazardly throwing it into her duffle bag. Reaching into her locker, Nayoung tugs out a spare camisole, bringing it over her head. Leather shorts come off long limbs, only to be replaced by boyfriend jeans. Nayoung wears a cap over her messy caramel locks, swinging her locker shut.

Streetlights are just switching off by the time Nayoung leaves the entrance of the club, duffle bag swung over her shoulder, wallet and phone in hand as she sets off towards the train station.

Checking her watch, Nayoung blows out a breath upon realising that her lectures start in three hours time. Maybe she could catch some quick eye-shut for an hour or so later on. Nayoung walks towards the entrance of the train station, tapping her wallet against the sensor and heading towards the line back to the university dorm.

—

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Nayoung feels a nudge to her shoulder and a thump on her back which stirs her from mid-slumber.

She groans, finally lifting her head off the table, chin resting on lazy palms. Brightness floods her vision and Nayoung squints into the daylight.

“Good morning, Kyungwon,” Nayoung mutters.

Kyungwon seats herself beside Nayoung, noisily pulling out the chair so that metal scrapes against the tiles. “Had another set last night?” Kyungwon questions. Nayoung hums.

Nayoung pulls the hoodie over her head, beginning to scribble some doodles on her notebook. Since both her and Kyungwon take music, lessontime is often time for composition, when they throw you a bass beat or a melody to play with; next lesson for presentation. Nayoung has at least a million mash-ups of different songs back in her laptop at home, another basic hook will not be difficult to replicate.

“The freshmen come in next semester,” Kyungwon grins, her eyes twinkling, “Are you excited?”

“Barely,” Nayoung deadpans. Parties, orientation planning, social events, banquets, balls— _god_ no, Nayoung is _not_ excited.

Nayoung’s social circle is anything but wide—there’s Kyungwon, Nayoung’s dormitory roommate. That’s it. Everyone else could pass off as an acquaintance; there’s nothing more than the fleeting moments of empathy and camaraderie she felt for the other university students in her classes.

“Oh, don’t be a killjoy. _I’m_ excited.”

—

“Welcome to Club Octagon.”

Minkyung smiles cordially, “My pleasure.”

The club CEO shows her around, running through the drink stock and where to find the den, classier name for storeroom, in case the stocks run out. “It doesn’t very often,” The CEO says, eyelashes catching the disco lights.

Bartending was a hobby Minkyung had picked up last summer amidst her boredom when all her friends were busy with enrolling. For Minkyung, her admission into university was already confirmed from her high school graduation, where they signed her onto a literature scholarship with NYC University. It involved spending three quarters of her university course in New York.

Minkyung picked bartending up fast. Beginning with little cafes near her house and latte art, it slowly progressed into bartending for actual bars, mixing up tequilas and pinacoladas within the snap of a finger, and with extreme detail and precision. Minkyung found a talent, but also her passion.

The CEO starts off up the stairs leading out of the den towards the main floor. “I know you won’t be here long,” The CEO says gently, “but I’m glad you decided to help us out for this season.”

Minkyung follows behind, taking in the exuberance exuded from the layout of the club. This was a place meant for the nightscene, meant for the banter and rowdiness of the end of a day when everyone finds a getaway within the pulsing walls and flashing lights.

Minkyung nods politely. “I’m glad to be helping out.”

Just as Minkyung reaches the final step, her eyes are drawn to a tall figure leaning against the bar counter, Beats headphones resting on caramel brown locks. The figure is dressed in ripped denim and sneakers. Minkyung cocks an eyebrow in mild interest.

As if on cue, the silouhette raises her head, lifting a nonchalant hand to drop the headphones from her ears to sling around her neck. She turns, meeting Minkyung’s gaze, and this is when Minkyung sees hazel eyes, a slender noseline, and cherry lips. Hazel eyes which are looking straight at her.

“Nayoung, this is Minkyung, our new bartender. Minkyung, this is Nayoung, our DJ.”

“Bartending is hardly a job, you know?” Nayoung smirks, those dark lips turning upwards. 

Minkyung scoffs. “Neither is DJ-ing.”

— 

Minkyung does not like Nayoung.

Minkyung _hates_ Nayoung. Minkyung hates how Nayoung wears her Beats headphones so glamorously like a publicity model when Nayoung is nothing more than a _disc jockey_ ; Minkyung hates how Nayoung dresses herself in ripped, torn-up boyfriend clothes calling it _fashion_ ; Minkyung hates how Nayoung purses her lips together when she concentrates, fingers sliding up and down the mixing boards; Minkyung hates how Nayoung sweats, flaming and bothersome all at once, making heat rise in the pit of Minkyung’s stomach; Minkyung hates how Nayoung always smells of crackling logs during a wintery day.

Nayoung hates less about Minkyung.

Nayoung hates how Minkyung comes waltzing into Club Octagon with the snob of a princess, or at the very least the heiress of a world class business; Nayoung hates the glint in Minkyung’s eyes when she levels her gaze with hers; Nayoung hates the way Minkyung’s lashes curl and reflect the crystalline lights; Nayoung hates the shape of Minkyung’s lips, how they tilt up at the ends; Nayoung hates the slope of Minkyung’s shoulders that Nayoung begins to see almost every night when Minkyung changes into her work attire; Nayoung hates how Minkyung attracts customers like light attracts moths, a horde of them shifting from the dance floor to crowd around the bar.

Alright, maybe not less.

Spite remains their main form of communication, often punctuated by the occasional smirk or scoff. A roll of her eyes, in Minkyung’s case.

Minkyung gets riled up every now and then because Nayoung is practically emotionless, denying Minkyung the satisfaction of getting a reaction from her, namely the person she’s trying so hard to take a piss at.

They get at each other just like mechanical clockwork, tearing each other down and building each other up.

—

“Coke,” Nayoung adjusts the turntables, cleaning a little speck of dust off it, “It’s classic.”

Minkyung’s jaw drops in disbelief. “You’re joking,” She gasps, “Pepsi is superior.”

Nayoung looks up, expression half-bored yet half-disdainful, “Pepsi is a ripoff. You know that as well as I do.”

“ _Coke_ tastes like sugarcoated carbonated bile.”

“As if that isn’t two thirds of what it is,” One side of Nayoung’s lips tilts up, a small dimple creasing into her cheek.

Minkyung loses her focus for a moment, forgets the difference between Coke and Pepsi when on a good day four hours is less than enough for her to write a full-fledged report about it.

“You really have no redeeming points, do you?”

Nayoung shrugs, placing the dirty rag back on the ledge after cleaning up her DJ set.

“I’m not sure,” Nayoung raises her eyes to meet Minkyung’s, “you tell me.”

Minkyung’s eyelashes falter in their blink as she starts off down the rusty portable stairs, turning around so that her gaze doesn’t— _can’t,_ meet Nayoung’s, breaking their eye contact.

“You don’t.” 

—

“Spin me one of your martinis.”

“Classic as always, is it not?” Minkyung fakes a sigh, grabs the cocktail shaker from the rack.

Nayoung watches Minkyung’s hands move, filling half the shaker with ice before adding the gin, splashing another liquid, closing the shaker. Shaking is routine to Minkyung by now, movements fluid and sharp.

_Shake, shake, shake._

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

Minkyung pours the translucent liquid into a glass, adding a lemon to the side of the glass before passing it over the bar top to the disc jockey.

“Here,” Minkyung says, full of confidence, her eyes flashing.

Nayoung takes a sip, the cocktail tickling down her throat, leaving a slight burn in its wake. Nayoung blinks, tries not to lick her lips because _god,_ that was good.

Nayoung takes another drink, notices Minkyung staring at her expectantly from across the bar top.

Nayoung scoffs, the glass clinking upon contact with the table. “I’ve tasted better ones in LA.”

 —

Minkyung steps over the threshold, cigarette between her lips as she messily ignites the end of the stick with the lighter. Inhaling, she takes in a deep breath before expelling the smoke into the chilly autumn night air. She leans against the brick wall, feeling the cement hard against her back. Closing her eyes, she allows her heartbeat to slow, the tinge of nicotine seeping into her blood.

Just then, the crunching sound of boots against granite jolts Minkyung out of her slight stupor.

"That," the gratingly familiar voice says, "belongs in an ashtray, not a mouth like yours." It's deep and husky, curling around Minkyung's ears. 

Minkyung lets her hand drop to the side of her waist, as if trying to hide the cigarette. Then she gives a helpless smile, one that looks more empty than mocking to Nayoung.

“It’s my mouth,” Minkyung raises an eyebrow, “Don’t see why you’re concerned.”

Nayoung shrugs, joining Minkyung and leaning against the wall beside her. Their shoulders bump in the early morning, late night glimmer of the moonlight, and Minkyung feels her heart start to rest, not because of the chemicals in her blood. It’s a different sort of calm, one that cannot be achieved from poison.

Lit by the lone glow of a cigarette, Minkyung blows out a puff of smoke before turning to face the older girl.

“You don’t have to care,” Minkyung says, meaning for it to come out crude, although it comes out a  _little_ more vulnerable than crass. 

There’s something different about tonight—something intangible, unexplainable. It’s not the atmosphere, not the twinkling of stars above them, not the mild chatter they can hear ensuing from inside the club, not the rumbling of cars across the big street just outside the alley, not the rank tinge of rawness in the night air, so raw that you can feel the leaves reddening with every step closer to winter.

Nayoung deadpans, “I don’t.”

But when Minkyung turns to look at the disc jockey, the only emotion hidden within every stone set feature is care. Not hatred, not disdain, not arrogance.

Care.

—

“What kind of set was that?”

Nayoung has a grin on her face from the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she steps off the rusty stairs, walking towards the staff lockers to get changed. Her eyes are twinkling, her mouth is dry, her blood _pulsing_ with the excitement and rush of spinning the last set for the season. Minkyung follows behind, hair now washed out to a faded shade between maroon and honey brown from the flaming red it was a few months ago when she had joined the club.

Their contract for the year was over, before the club would close for a little while during winter. Nayoung was contemplating resigning next spring, depending on whether she had sufficient time to juggle studying  _and_ working at the club; whilst Minkyung had decided not to, realising that spending her one year in Korea's university was pretty vital for her to find her bearings before having to migrate to New York next winter. 

“Not my best,” Nayoung agrees, “But it was good.”

“Really? Jazz and techno? What were you _thinking_?”

Nayoung looks back and laughs, her row of perfect neat teeth glinting in the darkness of unfixed lightbulbs and old LEDs.

Minkyung closes the door behind them as they enter the staff lockers, turning the lock with a click. She moves closer to Nayoung, her fingers tingling from every martini she’s mixed today, every pina colada she’s slid across the bar top.

“The crowd was _dying,_ ” Minkyung mutters.

Minkyung presses Nayoung against the lockers, eyes flitting between _eyes and lips, eyes and lips, eyes and lips._

“Relative,” Nayoung breathes, smile fading upon the close proximity, “Everyone was just more pre-occupied with you.”

Minkyung leans in even closer, feeling the tension in the air reach a breaking point—to be fair, it _had_ always been there since day one, since Minkyung walked into Club Octagon and Nayoung greeted her differently from any other new staff that had joined before; had always been there since Minkyung rested her eyes on Nayoung, tall and tan and _god, so beautiful_ in her ripped denim and _annoying_ Beats headphones.

“Oh, really?”

The question leaves Minkyung as a breathless whisper before she leans in, lips pressing against Nayoung’s. Lipstick smudges, fingers winding around the back of Nayoung’s neck to bring her closer, arms sliding around Minkyung’s waist to pull her deeper, their bodies crashing into each others’.

Solid heat finally builds in the depth of Minkyung’s stomach, a real, burning sensation that has been lingering ever since Nayoung’s fingers worked the turntables whilst sweat trickled down her temples. Minkyung kisses deeper, biting on Nayoung’s lower lip and pulling. A sound that remotely sounds like a whimper escapes from between Nayoung’s teeth and Minkyung grins, tongue gliding along the shape of her lips.

Minkyung tugs on Nayoung’s sleeveless top, peeling it off her pulsing skin from a particularly demanding set, fingers skilful and precise as she works at the buttons on the denim shorts. Nayoung is even more impatient—she tears a slit at the hem of Minkyung’s shirt, only stopping to give an apologetic nibble to Minkyung’s bottom lip. Minkyung sighs, ready to fire a spiteful comment until Nayoung’s mouth travels to the bottom of her jaw and begins south down her neck. Said comment trails off into a broken moan.

“ _Ugh,_ ” The annoyed but breathy murmur echoes within the locker room, “Nayoung, that’s _Chanel_.”

—

Nayoung grabs a white blouse from the hanger within her locker, packing her extra camisoles into her duffle bag. She drapes the white blouse on over her black bra, the sight of Minkyung getting herself dressed in the other corner causing her to halt her movements just to stare.

“You’re messier than I thought,” Nayoung grins, as if the thought is amusing.

_And_ they’re back at it again. Two hours of _nothing_ , no jabs, no insults in the air save for a few jaw-clenching comments and breathy gasps snapped back to incessant quarrelling, like a switch has been flicked.

Minkyung swivels around, folds her arms across her chest where she has her ripped Chanel shirt on. The slit is small, really, but it still looks ridiculous. Nayoung had shrugged, calling it “high fashion”, and Minkyung had rolled her eyes.

“And well you’re—” Minkyung seems to deflate upon being unable to find a derisive insult, “better than I thought.”

The taste of Nayoung is still in her veins, causing her to feel Nayoung in places where her hands were nowhere near. The ghosts of Nayoung’s touches, of them trailing up and down the entirety of her body, are still lingering, leaving Minkyung ever so breathless.  _Damn it._

Nayoung laughs, but it isn’t the demeaning scornful type of laughter. It’s genuine, and it makes Minkyung pause in her movements.

Nayoung begins to button up her blouse, leaving the top button undone as she moves to tug on her jeans. The adrenaline has dissipated, only to be replaced with a form of calm, a state of ataraxia and contentment.

“I won’t be seeing you for a long time.” Minkyung says simply, just like that.

“Yeah,” Nayoung swings the duffle bag over her shoulder, giving Minkyung her trademark grin, “I won’t miss you.”

Minkyung starts off towards the door, rolling her eyes, “Sure. I won’t miss you too.”

The door is almost close before Nayoung rushes forward, holding it open.

“Wait,” Nayoung closes her eyes as if she’s already regretting a choice, “wait.”

Minkyung holds the door, curiosity in her features as Nayoung takes off the leather jacket over her blouse, holding it out to Minkyung. She doesn’t say a word.

Minkyung raises a brow as if to question _what_ , although there’s a smile threatening to spill.

Nayoung’s eyes are fixed on the floor as she mutters, “Take it. Cover your shirt. You know, do whatever.”

Minkyung grins, not even bothering to hide it any longer as she takes the jacket and wears it on over her shirt, feeling the warmth it offered settle deep within her bones. 

Their lives weren't ever supposed to collide again after so, but then again the world is ever so small and when people are meant to meet again, they do. 

—

 


	2. love is clumsy, and my heart refuses to wear a helmet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minkyung wants something more; Nayoung doesn't want anything less.

Nayoung taps her pencil against the notebook beneath, trying to stifle a yawn amidst the mundane droning of monotonous voices. It’s the nudge in her waist by a sharp elbow that _almost_ gets the yelp out of her mouth.

“You’re going to the Arts Faculty party this weekend, right?”

Nayoung blinks lazily, diverting her attention away from the slides up front where the professor was going on about 16th Century Bach, “I don’t know.”

Nayoung purses her lips, turning to see a head of platinum blonde, cropped not beyond the shoulders and a pair of bright, doe-like eyes. An army jacket is draped around broad shoulders as the blonde tilts her head, demanding a concrete answer.

Then Kyungwon rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why I even bothered asking you if I’m just going to drag you along.”

“I’m going then,” Nayoung smiles, and Kyungwon herself breaks out into a grin. “Alright.” 

—

Minkyung pulls the suitcase along, heaving yet another sigh when she reaches the next flight of stairs. Grabbing the handle, she tugs, lifting all 8kg of her things from home up the first step.

 _Up, up, up._  

Once she catches sight of the rickety peeling, yellow sign that reads ‘Level 4’, she grins in relief.

Minkyung starts off towards the left block, suitcase trailing along behind her, wheels squeaking against the cement. 

_#04-06, #04-07, #04-08..._

Here. Room 0409. 

Minkyung closes her eyes, lets out a breath. The keys jingle around her pinky as she searches for the correct one, inserting it into the keyhole. To her surprise, the door is already unlocked.

 _Oh._ Minkyung keeps the keys and tugs the door open with a creak.

Cautiously, she walks in, leaving her sneakers on the shoe rack outside. The lights are on, Minkyung can hear the faint whirring of the fan above, and the room is already bustling with life. 

Minkyung blinks, eyes slowly scanning the room as it travels from the messily laid out bras on the mattress— _both_ mattresses—food wrappers at the foot of each bed, books spread out on the floor, and finally to one of the study tables, where a small girl with long dark brown hair sat, a grin on her face.

“Hello!” The chirpy voice goes, “I’m Yebin, your roommate!” 

“I’m Minkyung,” Minkyung smiles, “Nice to meet you, Yebin.”

“Likewise.” Yebin gets up, grinning apologetically, “I’m sorry about all these.” She hastily grabs the two lacy bras off Minkyung’s bed, “I was just—um, sorting stuff out.”

“I can tell,” Minkyung laughs good-naturedly, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Yebin smiles back at her, jerking her chin to the chip wrapper lying on the floor, “Sorry about that. I bought food for the Arts Faculty orientation party this Saturday, but I ended up eating everything.”

Minkyung tilts her head curiously, “The _what_ party?”

— 

Nayoung bounds up the stairs two at a time, dodging people and clutching a stack of books within her arms.

 _Late._ She is late.

Nayoung dashes across the hallways, _almost_ successful, _almost,_ until she swerves a boy texting and knocks right into a much gentler and softer force, one that sends her books cascading to the floor. Nayoung vaguely remembers feeling a body collide with hers, before she returns to her senses to realise that she's gripping onto a set of slender arms whilst her chin grazes the top of someone's forehead. 

“Sorry.” Nayoung steps back, making sure that the girl had regained her sense of balance.

A set of twinkling eyes meet Nayoung’s, and Nayoung sees dark, jet black hair falling around slender shoulders, full, red lips and a very, _very_ pretty face. Nayoung remains speechless, catches the scent of citrus from the girl. It’s not unwelcome.

“It’s okay.” The girl smiles, and Nayoung sees the stars.

“I-I was rushing,” Nayoung stutters a little, “I’m Nayoung.”

“Jieqiong,” The girl introduces, smiles, takes Nayoung’s hand from beside her to grip in a handshake.

Nayoung nods, finally remembers to crouch down to pick up her books.

Jieqiong follows suit almost automatically, gathering the rest of the scattered books, passing them to Nayoung with the same dumb smile on her face. Nayoung returns it, although she isn’t used to smiling _this_ much and she’s sure it looks more pained than friendly. 

“Yeah,” Nayoung brushes herself off, “I’d better go. I’ll see you around, Jieqiong.”

“I’ll see you around, Nayoung.”

—

Yebin leads the way, Minkyung watching the shorter girl in front of her sashay forward in her black crop top and leather jacket, boots finishing the entire goth-chick look. Minkyung had gone for something less alternative, dressed in a striped long sleeve shirt and denim shorts. Sneakers. After all, Yebin had called the dress-code casual.

“So, who else is supposed to be attending this party?” Minkyung asks curiously.

“Students from the arts faculties, you know? Literature, that’s us, art, geography, history, music... I guess it's just to let us be more familiar with one another." 

Minkyung nods, walking faster to keep in step with Yebin as they near the location.

“Here we are,” Yebin grins once they reach the room, a closed door. 

“This is it?” Minkyung looks at the crusty sign hanging from the top of the door.

From the outside, it looks mundane—unoccupied, even. The colour of the door is a dark blue, near navy, and from the peeling paint it's pretty clear to Minkyung that it hasn't been repainted in like, forever.  

“Yeah.” Yebin smiles, “Just wait until we go in.”

—

Minkyung sees streamers. Everywhere. Streamers on the floor, streamers in punch bowls, streamers on the walls, streamers on the chairs. _Everywhere._ Streamers, party hats, a _huge_ ‘Welcome, freshmen!’ banner hung from the ceiling. Chairs scattered all around, the carpeted floor messy with wrappers, messy with cards. It’s a party.

Minkyung sees a few couples making out in the corners, little bubbles of conversation, people using their phones, and a central group in the middle of the room laughing and screaming about something, nothing in particular.

“Let’s go,” Yebin grins and drags Minkyung by the wrist towards the laughter.

Minkyung stumbles behind, watching as the circle naturally opens up to let both of them in.

“Hey! Newcomers,” A loud, kind-looking girl lights up, “Names?" 

“I’m Yebin,” Yebin nudges Minkyung, “Minkyung!”, “and we are from the literature faculty.”

Minkyung slowly looks around the circle, everyone smiling and talking all at once, until she reaches a face all too familiar and time freezes.

—

Nayoung looks away from the conversation she was having with Kyungwon and another freshman, not believing her ears. _Minkyung._ There are a million other Minkyungs out there, it can’t be her.

But there she is, glowing and smiling shyly with the smile that enamours Nayoung almost as much as disgusts her. It _is_ her. 

Emotions bubble up from within Nayoung, causing her to blink a few times before she notices Minkyung looking up and scanning the group and—oh, _god,_ please no.

Minkyung’s eyes settle on Nayoung’s almost naturally, the gravitational pull seeming to exist between them as Nayoung stares back, unsure of what to say, of what to do.

 _Nayoung and Minkyung_ had only existed within the club, as a one-for-one deal because of their fights, of their constant squabbling which had the other club staff laughing. _Nayoung and Minkyung_ were their identities inside the club, in the quiet world they had built themselves after the everyday fatigue of schooling and everything else. _Nayoung and Minkyung_ weren’t supposed to exist outside of the club.  

“Everything okay?” Kyungwon asks from beside Nayoung, and Nayoung’s eyes flit away from Minkyung’s.

“Yeah,” Nayoung manages a smile, “Fine. I’m fine.”

Nayoung clears her throat, standing up to get another glass of cider.

—

Minkyung clenches her jaw, looking away after Nayoung left the circle.

The moment she returns, all other conversations cut off as the loud girl Yebin identified as Eunwoo yells, “And now it’s Nayoung’s turn! Truth or Dare?”

Truth or Dare, the classic of all icebreakers. _Of course._  

Minkyung crosses her legs, leans her chin on her palms. _Well, this should be interesting._

“Dare,” Nayoung replies calmly, eyebrow lifted.

“I dare you,” Eunwoo closes her eyes, pretending to think hard, “to—”

“—kiss a freshman,” Yebin shoots out from beside Minkyung, and Minkyung swallows.

Nayoung purses her lips, and Minkyung watches her contemplate, eyes almost trailing back to Minkyung. Then they begin counting down, everyone, and Minkyung feels her heart speeding up for no concrete reason.

“5... 4... 3...”

—

Nayoung begins, “Min—” before her voice gets cut off and she feels a pair of foreign lips on her own, soft and gentle. Nayoung kisses back, heart suddenly hammering against her chest. The pair of lips on hers breaks into a grin, and teeth bumps into teeth. Fingers reach up to curl around the back of Nayoung’s neck, pulling her closer.

Nayoung tugs slightly on lower lip, tasting citrus lipbalm and—

_Citrus._

Nayoung pulls back, chest heaving as the entire circle explodes into cheers.

Nayoung opens her eyes to see Jieqiong grinning back at her, hair mussed and eyes shining. 

“You’re welcome,” Jieqiong smiles, cheeks _obviously_ flushed, as she returns to her seat a few people away.

Nayoung gulps, eyes instinctively drifting to Minkyung.

Minkyung is expressionless, or _looks_ it, at least.

Of course. It should mean nothing to her. It should mean nothing to _either_ of them. Nayoung tells herself that, looking away. She lifts the cup of cider from the ground and tilts it to her lips, downing the entire glass in one go.

It should mean nothing. But why doesn’t it?

—

“You crossed the line.”

Nayoung swivels around at the sound of the painstakingly familiar voice, looking up from the sink where she was splashing her face with cold water just a second ago. The row of dirty bathroom mirrors reflect the same tall bartender from Club Octagon as Minkyung walks closer, stopping just a shadow behind Nayoung. 

“There were no lines to cross,” Nayoung closes her eyes, “if we never drew any to begin with.”

“Did it mean nothing to you?”

“What?”

“That night. Our last night at the club. Was it nothing?”

Nayoung turns off the running tap, turning around. Confusion is clear on her features. “It meant something to you?”

Nayoung recalls the adrenaline from a month ago, rushing full and fast and god _so_ electrifying through her blood after the set. Nayoung recalls the hands on her, the lips on her, the feeling of her back bumping against dented metal every time teeth bit a little too hard; every time fingers dug a little too deep. Nayoung recalls the echoed sounds throughout the empty room, the panting in her ear and her own voice deep when the volume got a little too high, the snarky 'shut up's she'd whisper in a ear—

“More than something.” Minkyung says truthfully, eyes flitting away, “Nayoung, I don’t hate you.”

Nayoung stills. This is why _Nayoung and Minkyung_ as a unity don’t exist outside the club—because it becomes dangerous. Because they become vulnerable, because they do not have an entity to hide behind. Because they are them, simply Nayoung and Minkyung, two teenage girls trying to navigate the many mazes that come with adulthood, meeting multiple times amidst the different lanes, finding each other; whilst also helping each other to find themselves. 

“I don’t hate you, either.” Nayoung admits softly.

“Then let’s—” Minkyung pauses, searching for the right words. She gives up, her fleeting moment of courage gone, “Let’s stop, okay? Let’s stop fighting. Stop—whatever this is.”

Nayoung swallows thickly, nodding.

Minkyung turns around to leave, to go back to the party.

Nayoung halts her, “Minkyung.” Nayoung hears the footsteps stop, the leaking of water in the pipes above suddenly strikingly obvious in the silence.

“Will you be okay?”

A beat of silence. “As okay as I’ll ever be.”

The door closes.

—

Nayoung looks up as a tray slides onto the lunch table opposite her. She was alone—Kyungwon was with some freshman called Yebin, apparently just a ‘friend’ Kyungwon found herself _really_ clicking with. Nayoung knew better, had seen the light blush on Kyungwon’s cheeks and the too-large grin on her face.

“Can I sit here?” A cheery voice chirps.

“Yeah,” Nayoung smiles, “Hey, Jieqiong.”

“Hi, Nayoung.” Jieqiong grins, before she begins to take out the carrots from the lunch tray.

“You don’t eat them?” Nayoung asks absentmindedly, trying to ignore the fact that—

_Minkyung doesn’t eat carrots, too._

“I don’t,” Jieqiong agrees. “So any words of advice from a senior to a freshman like me?”

Nayoung raises an eyebrow, grins a little before saying, “Make many friends during freshman year. Do _not_ learn from me.” Jieqiong laughs, the sound boisterous and loud and ear-piercing all at once, but her eyes twinkle and her nose crinkles and Nayoung finds it easy to find the constellations in her every move.

“They’re having a movie screening later, at night. Go with me?” Jieqiong asks boldly, but Nayoung can see the trembles in her fingers as she lifts the pair of chopsticks to her lips. 

“Okay,” Nayoung promises, since she had no classes for the rest of today and it _is_ orientation week, after all.

Jieqiong blushes almost immediately, a smile bursting onto her features.

“What movie is it?” Nayoung asks, pretending that it matters.

“Oh, I don’t know, really. Pirates of the Sea or something.”

Nayoung laughs, shaking her head, “Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“Yeah. That.” Jieqiong shrugs, “Close enough, really.”

“So you’re not going for the movie.”

Jieqiong smiles resignedly, “I thought that was obvious since the first time we met.”

— 

 _Oh,_ Yebin. _Oh._ Yebin, Minkyung’s friend. _Oh._

“Nayoung, this is Minkyung,” Kyungwon grins proudly. 

“Minkyung, this is Nayoung.” Yebin stands on her tippy toes.

Nayoung scuffs the tip of her sneakers against the floor. She lingers for a little, unsure of what to say, until she feels a hand take hers. Nayoung looks up; her and Minkyung’s eyes lock and something passes between them; a promise to protect the friendship of their roommates, of their best friends.

"Nice to meet you, Nayoung." Minkyung says first, the best smile she can conjure on her face.

"Nice to meet you, Minkyung," Nayoung plays along, feels Minkyung's warm fingers around her own.  

“And we’re set!” Yebin squeals excitedly, pressing a bone-crushing hug around Kyungwon’s waist.

Minkyung is much better at this; she smiles, laughs along with Yebin and Kyungwon, taking in the fact that because of Yebin and Kyungwon, they were considered a _clique_ now, one of those friend groups who meet up every lunch break even if they are from different faculties.

Nayoung almost believes that Minkyung is enjoying herself, until Yebin and Kyungwon rush off yelling free ice cream and Minkyung is left with Nayoung, lingering awkwardly around the lunch tables.

“Let’s try it.” Minkyung says, “For them.”

Nayoung wants to ask _try what,_ wants to play dumb, but a small portion wishes for them to try, as well.

“Okay,” Nayoung agrees, “Give me your number.”

“Okay,” Minkyung has a small grin, now, “But remember, I never text first.”

“Neither do I,” Nayoung raises a brow. 

“Then you’ll have to make exceptions,” Minkyung clucks her tongue playfully.

Nayoung opens her mouth to protest, but at this moment Kyungwon and Yebin come rushing back, in a fit of giggles and laughter. 

Minkyung straightens, a smile on her face, “So, what flavour is that?”

—

 **Minkyung** _:_ Guess who.

 **Nayoung:** Did you forget that we saved each others’ numbers?

 **Minkyung:** Oh.

 **Minkyung:** Maybe.

 **Nayoung:** Aw, you texted first.

 **Minkyung:** Yeah, because _someone_ was being a big baby and refused to do it.

 **Nayoung:** That big baby is grateful.

…

 

 **Minkyung:** This is nice, you know.

 **Nayoung:** What is?

 **Minkyung:** Friends. Being friends. Not trying to tear your throat out. You not trying to tear my throat out.

 **Nayoung:** You’ve been weirdly nice ever since we left the club.

 **Minkyung:** Can’t blame me. I’m not a mean person by heart.

 **Nayoung:** Saying something?

 **Minkyung:** _[Emoji] [Emoji]_  

Nayoung laughs, and Kyungwon looks over from her study table where she had been memorising some, to quote, 'trippy math formula which involved too many symbols for her head'.

“Got a girlfriend?”

“Not a girlfriend,” Nayoung _tsk_ s, “just Minkyung.”

“Right,” Kyungwon shrugs, “so, girlfriend.”

The book makes a whizzing sound as it glides past Kyungwon's head and hits the wall, barely missing her. 

Kyungwon grins. “Well, I didn’t stutter.”

—

Time begins to pass, and lessons start.

New timetables are issued, classrooms are listed, lockers begin to fill, the cafeteria starts to become the most popular place, once again. Nayoung sees the university come back to life after new blood has joined, more rumours spreading, more gossip travelling.

Nayoung finds herself dozing off a little less during music history lessons, Nayoung finds herself thinking more about composing, thinking less about everything else. Nayoung finds herself easing into a respectable sleeping schedule of at least 6 hours a night; finds herself restocking the dorm fridge every week, taking care of Kyungwon and her just as well; finds herself faring not too badly for the music presentations and tests.

The relationship between Minkyung and her eases into a steady friendship, although sometimes Nayoung lingers a little too long and Minkyung catches it; although sometimes Minkyung stares a little too hard and Nayoung notices; although sometimes Minkyung intertwines their fingers together and Nayoung still feels her breath catch in her throat; although sometimes Nayoung rejects Minkyung’s offers for a sleepover not because she doesn’t like the sound of it, but because it’s not going to end with them being _just_ acquaintances and both of them know it as well as the other.

Everything seems to be settling into a constant speed, gears turning at a regular and peaceful pace.

It’s somewhere between the first half of the year when the freshmen have more or less settled in—that’s when Nayoung finds herself constantly seeing a face so often that it begins to gradually become a part of her; a part of the constellations in her solar system.

— 

“This is the pipa.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Nayoung smiles, watching as Jieqiong picks up the Chinese instrument, giving it a strum. 

“Yeah,” Jieqiong laughs, “I mean—what music major _hasn’t,_ right?”  

Jieqiong plays more, fingers moving up and down the frets, the strings, playing a melody that frankly makes Nayoung fall in love. “That’s beautiful,” Nayoung says quietly, in awe, from across the floor where she sat opposite Jieqiong.

“Let’s hear your stuff,” Jieqiong lights up, scooting closer to Nayoung. 

Nayoung grabs her laptop from her study table, typing a few keys here and there. She opens her iTunes, goes into her organised playlists from this year, clicks one of her favourite mixes.

“Here,” Nayoung takes her Beats headphones off from where it had been hanging, putting it around Jieqiong’s ears, “Listen.” 

Jieqiong listens, hears a mix of techno and jazz—the mix that Nayoung had played on the last day of the club—, different yet similar beats drafting a story. Jieqiong opens her eyes, gaze locking with Nayoung’s as Nayoung stares at her expectantly.

“It’s great,” Jieqiong’s eyes twinkle in that familiar light, and Nayoung’s smile widens. Jieqiong’s voice is three times louder than it normally is which is enough to give _anyone_ a headache, but to Nayoung it’s endearing. “It’s really great,” Jieqiong says genuinely, letting the headphones rest around her neck, “You composed this?”

“From a few basic beats, yeah,” Nayoung smiles shyly.

“ _Wow_ ,” Jieqiong blows out a breath, inching slightly closer to Nayoung.

“It’s—not much. I mean, look at what you do with your pipa.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Jieqiong mutters lowly, lips just a few inches from Nayoung’s now, “That’s nothing.”

Nayoung’s lids are half-closed by the time Jieqiong has her forehead against hers, their breaths hot. Jieqiong kisses her first, their lips colliding in a mess of curious desire and adoration; the adoration that Nayoung had once mistaken as love. Jieqiong brings a hand to rest at the back of Nayoung’s neck, a grin on her lips.

Nayoung pulls back, feels the angels and demons flit inside of her as she meets Jieqiong’s eyes.

Swirls of emotions spill within her, but through all of them comes one crystalline thought: Jieqiong doesn’t kiss like Minkyung. Her kisses are softer, slower, and her lips are fuller. The lipstick smudged on Nayoung wasn’t Dior, it was a Korean brand. The scent of Jieqiong wasn’t vanilla; it was citrus.

It’s not right.

_It’s not right._

But when Jieqiong kisses her again, Nayoung doesn’t resist, lets her hands bring them to places they’ve never been.

It’s not fair to Minkyung; neither is it fair to Jieqiong, and that had been Nayoung’s biggest mistake.

—

“What’s that?”

“History of Music,” Nayoung makes a face, making Minkyung laugh in the silence of the library.

“Are you not going to ask me what this is?” Minkyung waves a stack of notes in front of Nayoung’s face.

“Literature,” Nayoung hums, “I know it. You’ve told me.”

“Be interested,” Minkyung whines, “It’s poetry. See?”

 _“Fall in love with_  
_the sound of her_  
_voice before  
_ _anything else;  
_  
_it will be the first  
__thing you will lose  
__when she is  
__gone.”_

_— Emma Bleker_

Nayoung lets her eyebrows crease into a frown. “It’s about loss,” She mutters, blinks.

“It is.” Minkyung says absentmindedly, gliding a finger down the poem, “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Hardly. It’s about leaving someone.” 

“Could be,” Minkyung hums, “It could also be about the importance of voice. It’s a perspective.” 

 _“We forget we’re_  
_mostly water_  
_till the rain falls_  
_and every atom_  
_in our body  
_ _starts to go home.”_

_— Albert Huffstickler_

“This is a nice one,” Nayoung touches the poem, as if she could bring it to life, “going home. Being.”

“Belonging,” Minkyung smiles, “everything in between. Remember, every poem always means something.”

Just as Minkyung flips to the next page, Nayoung’s phone vibrates from on the tabletop, Nayoung answering before she could even read the Caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Nayoung! I was wondering if you had any free time to spare since I’m free until two. Grab lunch?”

Nayoung looks to Minkyung, head bent over her collection of poems, smiling quietly to herself. Nayoung looks to Minkyung, looks at the way her auburn hair falls over her shoulders, curled neatly at the ends. Nayoung looks to Minkyung, remembers the concept of going home, being, belonging.

“Nayoung, are you still there?”

“Oh—yeah.” Nayoung fumbles for words, and this is when Minkyung finally looks up.

Minkyung mouths, ‘Jieqiong?’ and Nayoung is shocked that she knows. Nayoung gives a not-quite nod, and Minkyung just shrugs, gives a helpless smile. “You can go,” She continues mouthing to Nayoung, “I’m fine.”

Nayoung gives a smile back, one that doesn’t really reach her eyes, when she reaches below the chair to get her bag. 

“Yeah, I’ll meet you at your dorm, in five." 

And that had been Minkyung’s biggest mistake—letting her go.

—

 


	3. you're lingering (and i am, too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minkyung picks up every piece of herself she can find; but misses the part she's left with Nayoung.

 

December comes and just as quick, blows as a gentle breeze around the corner.

Minkyung flips a page in her calendar, sighing quietly to herself. Time has passed. Days have blended into weeks; weeks have blended into months; months have turned into a year. Minkyung stares at the email received last week in her inbox, starred as important. It’s the finalising of her admission into NYC University soon, since the school term begins in January. 

Minkyung almost slams her laptop shut as the door to the dorm room opens, and Yebin comes in with an armful of bags. Groceries, snacks. Mostly snacks.

“You don’t have to do that,” Yebin sighs, letting the bags drop to the ground, “I know.”

Minkyung opens her mouth, closes it again. 

“Sometimes your computer is just left open when there’s a notification. I thought it might’ve been important.”  

Minkyung creases her eyebrows, frowns a little, before she accepts the stifling hug that Yebin offers her, her arms slung around Minkyung’s neck; Minkyung’s wrapped messily around her waist.

“I’ll miss you, _so much._ Do you know that?” Yebin mutters.

“I’ll miss you too. Everything about the last year we’ve lived together.”

Yebin smiles sadly, stepping back and going to arrange the groceries, leaving the ice cream in the fridge. Minkyung swivels around in her chair, staring at the floor, looking at nothing in particular.

“You haven’t told Nayoung or Kyungwon, have you?”

Nayoung. _Nayoung._

“No,” Yebin agrees, “I think you should tell them yourself. Especially Nayoung.”

“Why especially her?” Minkyung lifts her head, staring as Yebin arranges the snacks along the counter. 

Yebin shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s just—it’s different. She knows you better than we do, than I do. It’s a different kind of knowing.”

Minkyung turns around, her back facing Yebin, finding decoding Yebin’s words tougher than the most complicated poem she’s come across before—and god, she's read millions. 

—

Nayoung looks up as Jieqiong tugs on her sleeve, motioning towards the sky.

“It’s snowing,” Jieqiong says in wonder, voice muffled by the scarf wrapped so tightly around her face.

Nayoung smiles, tugs a little to loosen the scarf, before nodding. “It is. It’s the first snow.”

Crystalline snowflakes fall from the greyish azure blue sky, each one intricately special, intricately different from one another. Nayoung lets a few graze her fingertips before drifting to the ground, landing on the freshly cut blades of grass. Jieqiong removes her left glove to intertwine her fingers between Nayoung’s, the both of them starting off towards the main university campus.

Nayoung feels a snowflake land on her nose, lets Jieqiong brush it off gently.

"People say that actual first snows are spent with your loved one," Jieqiong looks up, "Mine was with you." 

Nayoung keeps quiet, distracts herself with a pile of snow by the roadside, dirtied by millions of footsteps and streaked with dirt. She keeps quiet because she remembers last year's first snow outside the club, just a few days before their last work session. The damp rain that had been hanging over the city for the past week finally froze into ice, floating down the sky as snow. That had been the first snowfall in Seoul of all time; Seoul is the capital city, after all, and only areas that were higher up were supposed to drop temperatures, but for whatever reason last year had been special. 

Nayoung remembers how Minkyung had took Nayoung's gloves from within her pocket without even asking, a small hidden grin on her features. 

("What?" 

"I'm cold." 

"Well,  _deal_ , because I'm cold, too. Give them back." 

"No," Giggles, before they were chasing each other down the alley and hit the dead end, where the first snowflake had fallen.

Minkyung stops fighting, and so does Nayoung, only to tilt their heads upwards to watch the ice fall.

"It's wondrous, Nayoung."

"No, Minkyung, it's global warming.")

"There you go again," Jieqiong's voice pulls Nayoung out from her little trip down memory lane, "you're somewhere else. Not here, not with me." 

Nayoung blinks, offers the best smile she can although it's hardly anywhere near genuine, "Sorry." 

Jieqiong licks her lips, feels them dry and cracked under her tongue because she left her balm back in the dorms. 

Nayoung loosens her grip on Jieqiong's fingers as they continue walking down the narrow stretch of pathway, trying to ignore how small Jieqiong's hand felt in hers and trying not to wonder who Minkyung spent her first snow with this year. 

—

Minkyung blows out a breath, watches the cold air condense and form a white mist before her lips. Then she blows out another, rubbing her hands together in nervousness as she stands before the door.

_Knock. God, just knock, Kim Minkyung._

Hand shaking, Minkyung reaches up to rap lightly on the door. Once, twice, thrice. “Nayoung?”

The door swings open to show Nayoung in her oversized sweater, hair tied up in a messy bun, pen tucked away behind her left ear. In her hands was an opened book with a million scrawls and messily drawn notes. Minkyung can only deduce that Nayoung had been composing. 

“Oh, hey,” Nayoung smiles, “I was expecting Kyungwon, but this is a gift.”

Minkyung blushes, trying to hide it behind her hair as she takes off her boots, leaves them at the door and walks in.

“So, what brings you here?” Nayoung returns to under the covers where she had been reading.

_Tell her you’re in a week. Tell her you're leaving in 7 days. Tell her._

“I—uh, have something to give you.”

Minkyung watches as Nayoung scoots to the edge of the bed to get closer to her, a look of curiosity on her face. Nayoung pulls Minkyung’s wrist to get her to sit beside her, resting her chin on Minkyung’s shoulder as Minkyung nervously pulls out a slip of paper from her pocket, fingers trembling.

 _“If I never see you again_  
_I will always carry you_  
_inside_  
_outside_  
  
_on my fingertips_  
_and at brain edges_  
  
_and in centers_  
_centers_  
_of what I am of_  
_what remains.”_  
  
_— Charles Bukowski_

Nayoung reads it quietly, every beat of silence increasing the pulse count of Minkyung’s heartbeat.

“ _Remember, every poem always means something._ ” Minkyung’s words echo within Nayoung’s mind.

“Are you going somewhere?” Nayoung swallows, takes her chin off Minkyung’s shoulders to look her in the eyes.

Minkyung lowers her head, an unreadable expression, then a smile, on her face.

“No,” Minkyung shakes her head, although it looks forced, “I’m staying right here, with you, like I’ll always be.” 

—

Minkyung thinks she's hearing things—and rightfully so, because it's 3 in the  _morning_ and her phone is  _ringing._

Sitting up hazily, Minkyung slouches over the bed, casts a glance at Yebin deep within the covers, snoozing away. Ugh, deep sleepers. 

Minkyung's eyes squint at the intense brightness when she unlocks her phone, sees the Caller ID 'Nayoung' with the annoying heart symbol beside it. She snaps awake, index finger swiping across the screen before the phone is right beside her ear.

"Not a good time," Minkyung mutters, her voice low and raspy with the aftereffects of slumber, "Kyungwon better be dead." 

There's a mock gasp from the end of the line, before a laugh comes through. The laughter is loud, free, as if Nayoung isn't having to keep her volume down before a roommate, namely Yebin, wakes up and launches a shoe at Minkyung's head.

Minkyung runs a hand through her bedheaded brunette locks and asks again, "Is Kyungwon dead?" 

"No," Nayoung smiles through the line, "Can I meet you outside your dorm?" 

"Like, tomorrow?" 

"No, like," Nayoung hums a little, "Like now."

Minkyung narrows her eyes, more than a little confused. "Like—?" 

"Yeah," Nayoung affirms, "I'm outside right now, actually."  _Knock, knock._

Minkyung sighs, letting her mind contemplate the satisfying idea of rejecting Nayoung and falling back within the covers to catch up on the rest hours she's been missing because of the reports she has to hand in before moving to New York, but then that train of thought brings her to New York and  _oh, damn_ she'd rather spend her last few days seeing Nayoung than not seeing Nayoung.

So out she is, hastily tugging on a hoodie over her shirt and grabbing her coat before she breaks out into the chilly night air and sees Nayoung with her hair bundled into the hood of her jacket, resting down over her shoulders, and a smile on her face.

"Good morning." 

—

"You called me out of the dorm at 3am just to bring me to the  _playground_?" 

Nayoung flinches from the volume of Minkyung's voice, although she's smiling with the corner of her mouth and her left dimple is showing and Minkyung's complaints taper off into silence. 

"You've been busy," Nayoung shrugs, "with I don't know what, but..." Minkyung freezes. "but I wanted to spend some time with you." 

_Does she know?_

"Why not Jieqiong?" That's a dumb card to play and Minkyung knows it; but she's jealous and these mixed signals aren't helping.

"We're friends," Nayoung states simply, "you and me." 

_She doesn't._

"We are," Minkyung nods, sitting down on the swing beside Nayoung's, tilting her head so that she's looking at her. 

Nayoung keeps her eyes trained on the dorm before them, her legs swinging to and fro as she rocks gently on the swing. Minkyung pushes off the ground, finds herself swinging all crazy, the chains on her swing tangling themselves and rocking her more sideways than front to back.

Nayoung grins, getting off her swing to grab Minkyung's chains, halting the movement.

"Look," Nayoung's hands are on Minkyung's back, "I'll push you." 

There's a squeal before Minkyung's legs are above the ground, the arc of the swing making a fluent curve as Nayoung pushes once, twice, thrice. Before Minkyung knows it she's laughing, giggling and hushed screaming all at once, the fatigue and exhaustion fading from within her body. 

After a little while, Nayoung stands back, watches Minkyung laugh, hair rushing in the wind, cheeks pink from the excitement.

"I've chased after you my entire life, do you know that?" Minkyung suddenly yells into the wind. 

Nayoung, sitting on a children's rocking toy nearby, raises an eyebrow. "Chased after me?" 

"In the club; I found you. Here; I found you." 

"It's coincidence," Nayoung blinks, "All of it is." 

Minkyung lets the momentum fade, her shoes touching the ground. She gets off, walking to stand beside Nayoung. 

"If I decide to go somewhere far," Minkyung turns to the other side of the playground—not the side facing the dorm, but the side showing open roads, open land, open skies, "will you chase after me?" 

"No," Nayoung follows her line of vision, out into the open, "I'll let coincidence take me there." 

"Will it?" Minkyung exhales, watching the white, pale puffs of air stretch out with every breath.

"It will," Nayoung says confidently, "It always will." 

—

Minkyung grabs the last shirt out of her and Yebin’s shared cupboard, throwing it into the suitcase. She’s almost done packing now. One more trip to visit her family in Chuncheon later on before her flight tomorrow night.

Minkyung sighs, taking in the entire room where her and Yebin have made at least a thousand memories. After her, someone else is going to move in with Yebin—Someone better? Someone worse? Minkyung would rather not know.

As if on cue, the door opens and Yebin appears, carrying a bunch of clean laundry.

“Did you tell Nayoung?”

Minkyung lets a tense silence settle between them, and Yebin narrows her eyes. “That means a no.”

Kyungwon had found out through Yebin, and had rushed straight to Minkyung to give her a hug and a huge teddy bear upon hearing it. “ _Don’t forget me!_ ” Kyungwon had squealed, “ _And remember to visit! You have to visit!_ ” Minkyung had never wanted to keep a promise so badly before.

Yebin and Kyungwon had wanted to throw her a goodbye party, but not without Nayoung, both of them had agreed.

“It’s hard,” Minkyung says truthfully, eyes meeting the floor.

“I know,” Yebin mutters gently, “but only she doesn’t know. You can’t keep it from her forever.”

Minkyung blinks back a few tears, bending down to zip up her suitcase. “She’ll be fine,” Minkyung murmurs, letting the zipping sounds drown out her meaningless words.

Yebin sighs, “It’s not about that and you know it. It’s about letting her know that she’s important enough to know.”

“She’s _too_ important for me to tell her,” Minkyung mumbles. 

“So you’re going to let her hurt?”

“I know it. She’ll be fine, Yebin.”

Minkyung rights the suitcase, giving Yebin a last, bright smile. Yebin stops speaking, moves forward to bury her head in Minkyung’s jacket. Minkyung smiles into Yebin’s hair, trying to channel every ‘thank you’ she has felt for Yebin into a hug. It’s impossible, but at least she’s tried.

“You have to visit,” Yebin’s voice begins to shake.

“I’ll try,” Minkyung swallows, but in her mind she knows that she won’t be coming back for more than a few years.

“Alright, tiger,” Yebin pulls back, turning around to hide her tears and snot and everything else, “Go get them.”

—

“Where’s Minkyung?”

Kyungwon breaks first. “Gone.”

“Where? To the store? She did say she was going to—”

“No.” Kyungwon swallows, “Gone. To New York.”

Nayoung blinks, putting down her utensils. “ _Where_?”

“She had a—a scholarship. She wanted to tell you but—”

“She didn’t want to hurt you.” Yebin interjects, closing her eyes.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t tell me.” Nayoung's features harden. 

Yebin sighs, “I told her. I told her again and again _._ But she said you’ll be fine, because you’re, you know, _you._ ”

“Where is she now?” Nayoung takes out her phone, already calling for a taxi to Incheon.

“On the plane.” Kyungwon looks away, “She left yesterday.”

—

Minkyung exhales, getting up from her seat near the boarding gate as they give a last call for the flight. 

Minkyung had promised to visit, even to her family, but everyone knew that flights from New York to Seoul were anything but cheap; that the school terms work differently in Western countries; that as university progresses both her and her friends are only going to get busier; that Minkyung would rather work on her independence and get a job overseas to support herself rather than spend her parents' life-savings. She had some from working at the club last year, but those few months of work had only amounted to a few thousand, not merely enough.  

Quietly, Minkyung takes her seat on the plane, staring out the window. The faraway hills blend into a picturesque scene, one that Minkyung already finds herself missing. 

Just then, the track on her phone shuffles to one of Nayoung’s mixes.

Minkyung stills, finger hovering above the skip button as a flood of emotions hits her. 

…

“I can help you download it,” Nayoung smiles, taking a seat next to Minkyung in the staff lounge. 

Minkyung pays no attention as she flips to the next page of the magazine. “Yeah right, like I’d want that trash in my music library.” 

“You didn’t call it trash last night when you were moaning my—”

“God, okay. I get it. Don’t say it.”

Nayoung grins. “So?”

“Fine,” Minkyung rolls her eyes, “Just one track.” 

Nayoung had downloaded more than “just one track” into Minkyung’s phone that night, but that was beside the point because Minkyung had spent the next month with her earphones perpetually plugged into her ears, blasting the same _damn_ remix of classical and jazz.

…

 _No._ Minkyung lets out a breath, tapping her fingers against the handrest, _Nayoung has Jieqiong._

Nayoung has Jieqiong and Kyungwon and Yebin and _everyone else._ She doesn’t need Minkyung. _Right, she doesn’t need me,_ Minkyung psyches herself, resting her head against her neck pillow, _and she will forget everything about you. So forget everything about her, too. Forget it._  

Minkyung balks at this, eyes shooting open.

To forget Nayoung, and everything they had. _Whatever_ they had. It hadn't been something, but it sure as hell wasn't nothing.  

Minkyung unlocks her phone, scrolling through her contacts list until it settles on ‘Nayoung♡’ _._ Minkyung scoffs at the heart _._ Minkyung swallows, thumb now hovering above the ‘delete’ option. It’s a petty, only-for-exes thing to do, really, but Minkyung wants to start anew. And she can’t, not without removing everything that reminds Minkyung of her. 

Closing her eyes, Minkyung swipes. Then she moves to her music library, clicking on the entire playlist of 24 tracks.

_To delete all 24 items?_

Minkyung bites down on her lower lip, letting out a deep breath. 

She clicks. 

— 

Nayoung looks at the note, written in scratchy, idiosyncratic messy handwriting, stuck on her wall with a piece of tape. She brings her fingers up to the first line, muttering the lines of the poem under her breath as her eyes glide along the length of the note. 

 _On my fingertips,_ Nayoung closes her eyes, recalls the little details of her, everything from the beginning that had annoyed her, ingrained deep within her mind. 

 _At my brain edges,_ They tickle her. Amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life, they bother her. 

_You miss her. You miss her._

Nayoung sees the twinkling of Jieqiong’s eyes—familiar as ever, but not the same.

“Did something happen?” Jieqiong asks, resting a hand on Nayoung’s.

Nayoung closes her eyes, inches her hand away. “It’s nothing.”

Jieqiong plays with her fingers as she sits back, staring at Nayoung with a subdued expression on her face. Nayoung manages to paint a smile, grabs Jieqiong’s hand and intertwines their fingers.

“It’s— _fine,_ it’s not nothing.” Nayoung sighs, “Minkyung left.”

Jieqiong frowns, “Where to?”

“New York. For a scholarship, apparently.”

“Is she coming back?”

Nayoung looks up at the ceiling, back to Jieqiong’s concerned eyes, then to their tightly linked fingers.

She takes a deep breath, shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

— 

 


	4. 'wishing stars'

_I still search_  
_  
for you in crowds,_

Minkyung sees the tall, glittery buildings line up by the side of polished roads; cars bustling to and fro; millions of signs, millions of posters advertising world-class brands; neon lights flashing in the darkness of modern day, or rather, night New York City. The world is noisy, yet so quiet at the same time; bustling, yet so empty. She wonders why.   
_  
_ _in empty fields_

Minkyung sees the quiet of the outskirts of the heart of the city; sees the empty plains, stretching out into the horizon of the setting sun. Everything extends into space, with the lone road, flaked with bricks and dirt. Greenery dots the landscape, yellowing grasses and all.   
_  
_ _and soaring clouds._

Minkyung watches the clouds drift past, floating across the spread of azure and occasional pink. _It’s beautiful,_ she thinks to herself, wonders why nobody is here to share this scene with her. The leather jacket draped around her shoulders is warm, a comforting sort of pressure. _Her_ jacket. Quietly, Minkyung lays back and lets her mind wander. Wander it does to the happy memories at the back of her mind; flashbacks involving the dark interior of a nightclub buzzing with life, tingling fingers as she grabs the shaker and works her magic, playful, teasing banter of over two years ago.

Time passes too quickly.  
  
_In city lights_  
_  
and passing cars,_

Minkyung thinks life moves too fast here. Passing by the picturesque city streets after another night at the bar near her university, Minkyung feels a light throb build at the back of her head due to the alcohol, the slight tingle on her lips after she was pulled to the back alley, kissed against the bricks by a face she can hardly remember. There’s no point in remembering, after all, it’s not like they would have stayed.  
_  
_ _on winding roads_

Distance is always a figurative concept. Minkyung thinks home is a long way from here. How far has she travelled, how far is home? Home is in Korea, and it’s ever so tough to admit to the fact that her home is more than a simple geographical location—indeed, her home is someone, a physical, emotional body. Minkyung misses the little teasing conversations, Minkyung misses the familiar ache in her chest, the heat on her cheeks whenever a hand brushes too near or eyes lock with hers. Minkyung misses her.

_and wishing stars._

Tonight, there is a wishing star. Minkyung lifts her eyes past the skyline, sees the blazing ball of fire crash and collide with the softness of earth somewhere off the sidelines of the city. _I wish for you. I will always wish for you._  
  
_I wonder where_  
_  
you could be now,_

Nayoung discovers an old photograph sitting at the bottom of her drawer. It’s dusty, having been locked away for at least two years. A broken sort of smile plays on Nayoung’s lips as she smooths out the dog-eared corners of the film, a blurred shot of _her,_ long hair, flashing eyes and all. Fingers curled around a martini, only the best one _she_ ’s ever mixed. Nayoung runs a hand through her now jet black locks, sighs just minimally as she tucks it back into the drawer. She’ll burn it another day.

Time passes too quickly.  
_  
_ _for years I’ve not said_

“Mhm,” Nayoung hums, a reply that says more than any words can.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”

Nayoung is caught by shock, feels her walls of peaceful facade break down.

“I know you miss her. This is not—not the same.”  
_  
_ _your name out loud._

“Jieqiong,” Nayoung warns, reaching out to the girl who’s already about to leave.

“No,” Eyes which used to twinkle, used to reflect the constellations now shine with tears like broken glass.

“I’m sorry.” Nayoung manages to offer, swallows as she turns away. “You’re right. It’s not the same.”

“Minkyung,” The name is a quiet whisper amongst the silence after the angry echo of a slammed door.

Nayoung misses her.  
  
_And longer since_  
_  
I called you mine–_

Nayoung watches the faint airplane lights soar by in the quiet night. _I miss you. I will always miss you._

_time has passed_

Nayoung glides her index finger up the bass beat, turning it louder. She lowers the alto, feels it vibrate in her bones, before turning up the melody. The resulting mix bursts out of the speakers just right, bouncing within the confined walls of the club. The bartender is a girl called Siwon now—tall, beautiful, graceful. The crowds have been growing, so has Nayoung’s name as a disc jockey.  
_  
_ _for you and I._

Growing up comes with time; Nayoung knows it does. She herself has grown in the last two years, felt her values solidify, finally getting stabilised on what matters to her, on what doesn’t, no, not so much. Nayoung has seen more of the world, has seen the universe change in its volatile state right before her eyes. Nayoung is still herself, just better, stronger. She can only hope that the same has gone for Minkyung.  
_  
__But I have learnt  
_  
_to live without,_

Minkyung grins teasingly as hot fingers sear past her cold skin, raising goosebumps as they travel higher. The sigh leaves Minkyung’s lips almost automatically, no longer a reflex, but a tactic, a habit. It’s not right; it’s not what she wants. But it’s the best she can get. Minkyung finds it hard to settle for less than best after you’ve seen the best. After all, it is human nature.

Nayoung clicks on her phone. No notifications. She sends Kyungwon and Yebin a quick text to meet for dinner later on before she returns to her massive stack of composed beats, a portfolio post graduation to help ease her into music as a career path. She’s been working on it, relying on the large book to occupy most of her time ever since every empty pocket of time is no longer taken up by Jieqiong.

 _It’s fine,_ Nayoung tells herself, _everything is going to be alright._  
  
_I do not mind–_

When the lips get to Minkyung’s jaw and hands further south, Minkyung halts them. She takes a deep breath, pushes them away and gets up. “I’m sorry,” She reaches to open the door, “I have to go.”

Nayoung sets her pen down, feeling the headache set in. Inspiration is lacking. Nayoung lets her head rest between her hands, letting out a breath in the silence. She closes the huge stack of notes and leans back, simply staring at the empty patch of wall before her.

So much has changed, yet so much is still the same.  
_  
_ _I still love you anyhow._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —poem by lang leav. ♡


	5. from polaris, my dear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minkyung and Nayoung go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess you can count this as a kind of epilogue? i was originally gonna end it at the last chapter, but i myself am a sucker for non-angsty endings lol 
> 
> *there's a noticeable time skip throughout the entire story bc i didn't want to go into very many details, but just note that this happened about 3 years after minkyung left—as expected, they've moved on to greater and better things, but without forgetting the little parts of them before.

Nayoung trails her finger down the list of countries in her notebook, finger hovering above the last stop.

The portfolio had gotten her to further places than she had expected. A year after graduation, Nayoung had landed a career at a music producing company, before they recognised her popularity and sent her off on a world tour.

A _world tour._ Even now at the last leg of the tour, Nayoung can hardly believe it.

Nayoung lifts her new pair of red Beats headphones over her ears, closing her eyes and settling back against the seat.

Music pulses through her ears, a fine and steady flow. Life has settled into a steady rhythm of job and passion, one that Nayoung has taken in her stride. Over the past few months, she has been all over the world: Seoul, Tokyo, Shanghai, Beijing, Paris, Hong Kong, you name it. Big cities, even bigger powers, and her biggest dreams. Nayoung has been living it— _her_ dream: Headphones perpetually slung around her shoulders, jacket sleeves pulled up to her elbows, fingers moving at the speed of light across computer keyboards to mix tracks, across the mixers to turn up the bass.

Nayoung remembers the excitement rushing through her when she saw her name printed beside the tiny words 'Music Producer' at the bottom of her physical release; she would have never thought it possible, a faraway goal from her first years in university, but there it was, there it is, and Nayoung's right in the heart of it. Even the word achievement has become an understatement; Nayoung has never felt as ecstatic.

Just as she looks out the plane window at the clouds drifting by the blue stretch of vastness, an announcement sounds. 

_We will be landing in New York City shortly. Thank you for flying with Delta Business Express._

_—_

Minkyung grins as the confetti explodes, shimmering from the air onto all the graduated university students.

She was graduating. Three years of studying in a foreign country, and she was about to go home. No more late forlorn nights amongst rough winds, no more buying High Cut magazines in dingy American petrol kiosk stations as cheap attempts to reminisce home. The last cut of the scholarship involved landing a five-year long career with the Arts Ministry in the United States but Minkyung had received a letter just before the graduation ceremony, informing her that she hadn't made it.

Minkyung had smiled; she was going home. 

Minkyung snaps back to the present, watches as the graduated students all form a big hug in a circle. Minkyung finds herself beside Yewon, Siyeon, Sungyeon and Kyla, the four girls she’s grown especially close with over the course of the last three years. Siyeon and Yewon were from Korea as well, Kyla and Sungyeon from New York themselves. 

“I’m so glad I got to do this with the four of you,” Minkyung smiles.

“Me too,” Yewon chirps, the perpetual grin on her face widening.

“Me three,” Sungyeon agrees.

“Me four,” Kyla says, a little softly, but genuinely, nonetheless.

“Siyeon?” Minkyung lifts an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” Siyeon deadpans, although there’s a mischievous light in her eyes, “Never.”

The five of them start to laugh, the sound boisterous and loud amongst the happy chatter of the room.

—

Nayoung taps the card against the sensor and brisks into the hotel room, dropping her bag by the entrance. 

New York was a tiring city, Nayoung wouldn’t crown it any other way. Just a short trip from the airport and Nayoung has already settled into the hustle and bustle of the city: glamorous streets, blazing lights and all. Fluent English which she tried to speak, the words although coming out a little scratchy and tied but comprehensible, at least. 'It's a cute accent you have there,' the cashier at the mart had said, to which Nayoung had ducked her head and smiled, a little shyly. 

Nayoung collapses straight onto the bed, checking the time on her phone before it buzzes. 

 **Jieqiong:** Heard that you’re almost done with your tour! Congrats! 

 **Nayoung:** You too.

 **Jieqiong:** :) 

 **Nayoung:** Meet in Korea soon?

 **Jieqiong:** Sure, your treat!

Nayoung chuckles, resisting the urge to playfully roll her eyes. Jieqiong and her had many differences to iron out, but at the end of the day whatever brought them together at first had been affection, a connection of friendship, intense enough to be mistaken as love, but no, not love. Jieqiong had stopped pushing for a romantic relationship a few months after the break-up, both of them pouring out their hearts into their careers and supporting each other from the sidelines instead. 

Jieqiong had moved on to a performing company almost immediately after graduation; safe to say, they were both huge successes in their own fields. Jieqiong had a world tour the same time Nayoung did—pity their schedules never collided—while Nayoung spun turntables, Jieqiong played stories on the pipa.

 **Nayoung:** Okay.

 **Jieqiong:** Okay. ^^

Nayoung checks the clock. 4pm. 

She had a few hours until dinner, before her actual gig began at nine. Nayoung decides on taking a shower, tugging off her jeans and blouse, hanging up her coat inside the wardrobe before heading towards the bathroom. The hotels here are classier, too; taller, as if they embody the class of the city. 

Her entire body was aching from the last spin in Hong Kong, where she had to remain standing for hours. Her sneakers squeaking against the black tiled floors, the usual water bottle under the booth already empty halfway through. By the end of the set, her hands felt rough, worn out and her feet were pulsing, her head throbbing.

Only the adrenaline had been left, but Nayoung had nobody to celebrate it with.

—

Minkyung rushes back home, haphazardly changing from her graduation robes into a shirt and denim shorts from the top of the heap of clean, unfolded laundry in the corner of her room. Then she grabs a random jacket from her wardrobe before she snatches her bag for work and she’s out the door, running to hail a taxi. The packing could wait; most of the university students only moved out a week after the ceremony anyway. 

“God, I’m going to be late,” Minkyung mutters quietly.

Minkyung gets into the first taxi that pulls over, address of the club rolling off her tongue.  

Right when the taxi pulls over at the entrance, Minkyung stumbles out, running up the steps of the club.

Apparently there was going to be an event there today, a guest DJ. Minkyung had been to busy with graduation preparations to be bothered with it. 

Sneakers thud against the marble softly as she brushes into the club, making her way to the locker rooms. Twisting the key into her locker, she swings it open, Coverse coming off only to be replaced by a sleek pair of midnight heels.

This club job had been introduced to her by Siyeon through connections, a respite for Minkyung on Friday nights to escape from the chaos of daytime university events and studying to keep in touch with what she loves. 

Minkyung sheds her shorts and shirt from earlier on, only to tug on her dress for work, brushing her long locks back. Jet black hair fall past her shoulders and the bare, pale exposed small of her back. Exhaling softly, Minkyung puts on her earrings, necklace, touching up on her makeup before keeping her belongings back in the locker.

She grabs the jacket from the bench, deciding to keep it with her since the weather had been getting chillier. The fact that it’s _her_ jacket doesn't even throw Minkyung off anymore—she's been wearing it a lot these days—, before she remembers that _holy shit,_ she is late, and that if she doesn’t register herself in the next four minutes she’s getting her paycheque deducted.

Minkyung sprints out the door, rushing to the bar area.

Just as she taps her card against the sensor to signify the start of her shift, the machine beeps.

 _Registered: 7:59pm._ Minkyung sighs in relief. A minute early.

— 

Nayoung squints a little as she first enters the club, disco lights spinning.

The layout of the club was slightly different from the rest she had been to; it was wider, with a glassy dance floor that reflected the colourful fluorescent lights, neon signs aligned across the walls, many chandelier lights hanging from the high arched ceiling. Instead of the circled tables popular back at home, large couches are arranged around the spaces beside the dance floor, leathered and slick. Nayoung knows that this is one of the most famous clubs in New York, the detailed interior says enough.

Her hands are tingling, itching to get to the mixers, which are often the best part of DJ-ing elsewhere.

She walks further in, her sneakers now quieter against marble as she nears the bar area. Millions of empty wine bottles are stacked up behind the counter in glass cupboards, stretching towards the ceilings. 

Right as her eyes travel down to the counter level, she sees an all-too familiar figure standing, looking at the menu for tonight and checking the stock of every type of drink. The bartender. A finger runs across the drinks on the upper shelves as she tiptoes to get a better look, the little familiar birthmark on her upper back exposed by the slip of skin seen through the slit in her dress shaking Nayoung's heartstrings. 

She has her back faced to Nayoung but Nayoung would  _never,_ never not recognise her even amongst hordes of faceless bodies. Not tens, not hundreds, not millions, not billions. Never. 

And the jacket lying on the bar top just beside her. The jacket is _hers,_ Nayoung’s.

Oh.

_Oh._

Nayoung stops still, feels like a million ton of bricks have been let off her back. She blinks, the thud of her chest starting to ring in her eardrums, a beat that matches _her_ body's symphony. Not Nayoung's own;  _hers._ There's a weird rushing sound in her ears akin to the wind and unknowingly, she smiles, one so genuine that it echoes in every cell of her body. This is it. She's home. 

Nayoung clears her throat, fingers itching to reach out. Her words are soft and fragile, spoken as a whisper.

“Bartending is hardly a job, you know?”

—

“Neither is DJ-ing.”

The words are out of Minkyung’s mouth even before she even realises they are.

In disbelief, Minkyung swivels around, the familiar tone of the voice immediately setting her heart at ease, encapsulating every happy memory Minkyung has ever had into a matter of words and breaths.

Nayoung raises an eyebrow, trying to hide the little tremble in her features when she catches sight of the face that she has chased so many times in her dreams right before her, painstakingly beautiful as always. "Now it is." 

Minkyung doesn’t stop the smile that tugs on her lips when she catches sight of dark purple hair spilling down broad but slender shoulders, almond hazel eyes, an elegant nosebridge, cherry lips, and the familiar dimple in the crease of a cheek when the girl before her returns the grin.

Something squeezes in Minkyung's chest as if it’s always been anchored, her centre of gravity. It’s there, and it’s recognisable. Unmistakable, almost. _She is._

“Nayoung.” Minkyung speaks first, her eyes glimmering with not-quite tears.

“Minkyung,” Nayoung says back, and her voice sounds just as melodious, if not a little more tired, “I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea,” Minkyung mutters under her breath, the tears now forming, “you have no idea.”

Nayoung grins as she walks nearer, her lips moving of their own accord, “We forget we’re mostly water—” 

Minkyung swallows, “—till the rain falls—”

Their voices blend together, a beautiful mix of raspy and gentle, “—and every atom in our body starts to go home.”

—

**Fin.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! so if you've read this far all i want to say is one big thank you for your support and your attention ^^ writing this was really a spur of the moment thing; i never expected myself to really finish it. writing this helped me divert away from my main train of thought of like, one-track romance. instead, i thought it'd be better to show how they grew together; although it's separate at times, but they go through different experiences learning how to become stronger people, learning what matters to them; and how they needed each other. it's not so much a physical need, but more of one where they had each others' backs and nobody else really did it just as well.
> 
> tl;dr - tysm for reading until here, i'm glad i got to post this. ♡


End file.
